


The Open Door Incident

by Plenoptic



Series: The Indecent Reign of Maestro da Vinci [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Leo you're killing me, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/pseuds/Plenoptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio sees his companions in a compromising position, and Volpe continues to rely on Leonardo's sage wisdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Open Door Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I keep referring to Niccolo as 'boy,' even though he's twenty-four. But Florentine boys weren't considered men until they'd hit about twenty-five, even though they were sexually active (with both men and women) by the time they were fifteen or sixteen. They weren't really expected to take on responsibilities and start families until they were in their thirties. Boys in this transitional period between adolescence and adulthood were referred to as 'giovani.'
> 
> ...And now you know.

“ _Tesoro_.”

Niccolò Machiavelli twitched but didn’t look up. With a huff, la Volpe circled his desk, wrapping both arms around the younger man’s neck and slouching against his back.

“Nic-co- _lò_.”

“What?” Machiavelli asked with a sigh, setting down his pen and pressing his mouth to Volpe’s arm, taking the thief’s hand. “What,  _what_?”

“Can we  _please_ —”

“No, Gilberto. Do you know how behind I am?”

The thief whined, tightening his grip when Machiavelli tried to shrug him off. “But it’s been  _days_. Please?” He pressed closer to his young lover, landing a soft kiss against the back of Niccolò’s neck. “I’ll suck you if you want. Under the desk? Hm? Nice and naughty.”

“No.” Machiavelli signed his name with a flourish and folded the document, pouring out hot wax before stamping it to seal it. “As soon as this dries, I need it taken to the Signoria.”

Volpe pouted, straightening and accepting the letter. “Fine. Who’s it for?”

“Marcello. Just an update.”

“Mm.” The thief took a seat on the edge of the desk, sighing when Niccolò began copying out a second letter. “For Biagio?”

“Of course. You know he worries.” Niccolò gestured toward the window. “And I can’t go anywhere with Savonarola sniffing about and Ezio stirring up trouble.”

“Marcello still intends to award you his seat, I hope, for all this hard work?”

“If Savonarola falls.” Niccolò bit his lower lip. “ _When_  he falls.”

Volpe hummed, smoothing a hand through Niccolò’s hair. It was getting long, unkempt. Niccolò wasn’t exactly vain, but he was picky about his appearance—appearance, after all, was everything in the political arena. The emergence of his soft curls was evidence of his mounting anxiety and distraction.

“It’ll be ours again.” Niccolò’s voice was quieter now; he was speaking more to himself than to la Volpe. “The Signoria. Florence. They will both belong to the people.” His gaze hardened. He signed the bottom of the letter— _Farewell. Niccolò Machiavelli._  as always—and sealed it. “This one, too?”

Volpe nodded, accepting both and tucking them into his cape. “You’ll want them delivered discreetly, then?”

“If at all possible.”

“Consider it done.”

Machiavelli smiled up at him, so sweet and tired that Volpe’s heart threatened to stop. “Thank you, Gilberto. It’s a great help.”

The thief made a noncommittal noise before leaning forward and capturing the younger man’s mouth in a kiss. For a moment Niccolò seemed to hesitate, but at Volpe’s gentle insistence he parted his lips, groaning when he was pulled to his feet and pushed into his desk. Volpe stepped between his thighs, huffing a hot breath against his lover’s mouth and fumbling with the clasps of Machiavelli’s coat, pulling them apart with a touch too much force, breaking two before easing the third open.

“You’re fixing that,” Machiavelli mumbled, just before his mouth was sealed again.

 

-

 

Ezio returned to their temporary headquarters—the hideout used by Volpe’s thieves—feeling tired, harried, and angry. His purge of Savonarola’s lieutenants was taking far longer than expected, and for every zealot he removed, another seemed eager to step forward. One conspiracy just wasn’t enough, was it, he fumed to himself, all but stomping up the stairs toward Machiavelli’s office to consult the dossier for his next target. No, Italy had to foster madness in every corner, simply insisted upon putting deranged “men of God” in positions of power…

The door was already ajar. Ezio pushed it open, sucking in a breath to complain loudly about the state of Florence, and froze with one foot hovering in mid-step. Machiavelli was in his office, but he didn’t look ready to talk about targets—in fact, he didn’t look much ready to talk at all. He was sitting on his desk, his clothes disheveled, mouth open in a moan while la Volpe—while la Volpe—

Ezio stepped back and pressed himself flat against the wall beside the door, his heart in his throat. Oh, God. Oh, sweet Christ in Heaven. He peeked around the door just in time to see the thief get up off his knees and drag Machiavelli in for a long kiss, the flexing of their jaws leaving no question as to just how deep it was, nor how passionate. Ezio swallowed and hid again, closing his eyes and willing his body to quiet. When was the last time he’d taken anyone to bed? Too long, he decided, when he felt his cock beginning to stiffen in his trousers. For several long seconds he hovered, torn, but a soft, pleading moan from within the office made his decision for him.

He peered through the door again, biting his lower lip and cupping his crotch, teasing himself with light, gentle strokes while Volpe did the same to Machiavelli. Ezio had never considered the young politician to be especially attractive, but he did make a pretty picture now, his carefully honed control slipping away from him while he came apart under the thief’s hands and mouth.

Machiavelli wrapped both arms around la Volpe, drawing him close and pressing his mouth to the thief’s shoulder, grunting as the older man spread his legs and entered him with a rough thrust. For a moment—just one fleeting, terrifying moment—Ezio could have sworn Machiavelli glanced at the open door, but then it passed, and the young man was murmuring in Volpe’s ear. Whatever he said made the thief growl; he bit the boy’s neck before pulling him in for a crushing kiss.

Ezio restrained a moan and pulled his erection free, taking himself in hand and pumping hard to the furious rhythm of la Volpe’s hips.

 

-

 

“Don’t look now,” Machiavelli whispered, pressing his mouth to Volpe’s ear through a curtain of dark curls, “but Ezio’s at the door, watching us.”

Volpe grunted, and with a smirk the boy continued.

“He’s touching himself, and looking awfully damn guilty about it.”

“Let him watch,” Volpe growled, and scraped his teeth against Niccolò’s pulse before claiming his mouth again.

Niccolò arched against him with a shaky moan, let his world narrow down to their almost brutal fucking. He was amazed at how little he cared that they were being observed, that Ezio could see them at their most intimate. Yes, let him watch. Niccolò was tired of pretending that it was only friendship between him and Gilberto, tired of stolen kisses and touches that didn’t last long enough. He didn’t care if Ezio saw. No—he  _wanted_  him to see.

 

-

 

Two weeks passed before Ezio plucked up the courage to look Machiavelli in the face again. Several attempts ended with him babbling nonsensically about things he had to do before hurrying away while the younger assassin smirked after him. Ezio had the horrible, unrelenting feeling that Machiavelli  _knew_ , that he had in fact seen him through the open door. If he  _did_  know, and hadn’t done anything, had let Ezio watch him be fucked by his older, male lover—well. Ezio just didn’t know what to do with that, so he ignored the young man as best he could.

He was working at his desk—much to his chagrin—writing up a full report on his most recent assassination for Machiavelli’s records (why they kept a written record of such things was beyond Ezio, he just knew it was a pain) when the young politician sauntered up to the door and knocked a fist against the wall, smiling—though not unkindly—when Ezio jumped.

“Good morning.”

“Oh. Um. Morning.” Ezio lowered his gaze, unable to look at the younger assassin for more than a few seconds without envisioning him with la Volpe between his thighs. “What can I do for you, Machiavelli?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Niccolò folded his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow when Volpe himself joined him in the doorway. “Must we?”

“At least give it a thought.”

Ezio swallowed as he looked up, watching the two men warily while they glared at one another. “Er…”

“Ezio,” Volpe said, crooking a finger at him without looking away from Machiavelli, “stand up.”

“I—what?”

“Just do it.”

Perplexed, Ezio got to his feet, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. Volpe finally looked at him, and Ezio’s hair stood on end when he was openly surveyed, Volpe’s violet eyes raking his form, taking in every detail. Machiavelli looked at him too, but his expression was different—disinterested, almost?

“Well, go on, then,” Volpe said, a touch impatiently. “Give us a twirl.”

“Don’t,” Machiavelli said, scowling at Volpe. “I’ve seen enough.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” Volpe sighed.

“This was Leonardo’s idea, wasn’t it.”

“Er…”

“What?” Ezio broke in, brows furrowing. “What are you two going on about? What about Leonardo?”

“I’m sure he didn’t have  _Ezio_  in mind when he suggested it,” Machiavelli said through gritted teeth, ignoring the older assassin in favor of glaring at Volpe.

The thief only grinned. “I sense a ‘but.’”

Machiavelli scowled at him a moment longer before turning his hard gaze on Ezio, who jumped a little. It was rather like being sized up by a predator. “Ezio. Come to my quarters tonight. There’s something we must discuss.”

And then the young man turned on his heel and left. Still grinning stupidly, Volpe waggled his fingers at Ezio— “See you tonight!”— and followed, leaving Ezio still standing behind his desk, completely at a loss.

The rest of his day passed in a blur. Ezio let his legs lead him toward Machiavelli’s quarters at sundown, hovering somewhere between excitement and downright terror. He hesitated before the thick door for several long minutes before lifting a fist and rapping once, twice, three times. When there was no immediate answer, he considered escaping—er, leaving—but then the door swung open.

Ezio’s breath caught in his chest. Maybe it was just because he’d seen the younger man in so compromising a position, or maybe it was because the boy was dressed only in his pink tunic and hose, but—had Machiavelli always been so attractive? Not classically beautiful, but  _tempting_ , with those keen eyes the color of a storm cloud, the line of his mouth that always seemed twisted in a hard frown or a wry grin, never anything in between.

“Ezio.” Machiavelli stepped back, holding the door open. He was biting his lip, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Come in.”

Well. Here he was, the point of no return. And Ezio crossed it without hesitation, nodding before stepping into the younger man’s bedchamber. He wasn’t surprised in the least to see Volpe on the bed already, though it was unusual to see the thief with a book in his lap. Volpe’s hood was back, exposing his wild head of dark curls, and his brows were knitted together, lips moving soundlessly while he read.

“I’m attempting to impart some culture in him,” Machiavelli said, smirking when Volpe shot him a dark glare. “If you’re going to be a revolutionary, Gilberto, you might as well be a civilized one.”

“I’m plenty civilized, you callous brat,” Volpe grumped. He closed his thick volume of Plato with a snap, getting to his feet and removing his cape, letting it fall to the ground. “Let’s move on to more interesting topics, shall we?”

“Like what?” Ezio asked, though he knew the answer already.

“Sex, of course.” Volpe approached them with a grin, looking every bit a fox stalking prey. He slid his arms around Machiavelli’s waist, pulling the boy into his chest. “You saw us.”

Ezio swallowed, trying not to notice the way Machiavelli shifted at Volpe’s touch, pressing his ass against the older man’s hips and biting his lower lip. “Ah. Yes. Um. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Volpe said, practically purring. “We weren’t being especially careful. Were we?” he added, his voice a dark croon, and nipped at Machiavelli’s ear.

Ezio sucked in a breath. “I should… go.”

“Should you?” Machiavelli pushed Volpe away, stepping up to Ezio. Close, he was too close—Ezio could smell his hair (and it was looking long lately), a light fragrance, oleander and wine and dust. “Polite social convention would certainly have you take your leave of us. But we are assassins, are we not? We know better than that. We know that convention is merely a...suggestion.” He arched an eyebrow. “Are we in agreement?”

Ezio closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his breath. “It is true that convention exists because we permit it. But perhaps it exists for a reason.”

“And what reason is that?” Machiavelli smirked, hooking a finger into Ezio’s belt and tugging him closer. “To keep us chained, surely. Oppressed. So afraid of our own sins, of damnation, that we forget to chase simpler desires.” He was much too close now, so close their mouths almost brushed when he spoke. “I have no patience for convention, no regard for the status quo. That’s why I’m an assassin. Why I’ve taken Gilberto for a lover.”

He was too good at this, too practiced—the way he lowered his voice until it was only just audible, the way he looked up at Ezio through his dark lashes, the picture of seduction.

“It’s why I would I have you tonight, as well.” Machiavelli raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a smile. “If you’re agreeable, of course.”

Agreeable. Ezio almost wanted to laugh. Instead he ducked his head and caught Machiavelli’s lips in a kiss. The younger assassin started, and a stunned moment passed before he groaned quietly and pulled Ezio closer, opening his mouth for the larger man’s questing tongue. Ezio growled, pulled the boy in by the hips and forced his chin back, deepening their kiss while his hands roamed the lithe young body.

“Easy, easy.” Volpe parted them with a chuckle, offering Ezio a sultry smile before pushing Machiavelli toward the bed. “Ezio. You’re wearing too much.”

True enough. Ezio pushed his hood back and unbuckled his belt, letting it fall to the floor, taking all of his weapons along—save one. Volpe lifted an eyebrow and reached for Ezio’s arm, trailing his fingertips from the proud bicep down to his wrist, caressing the bracer that held his hidden blade.

“There will be no need for that here,” the thief murmured, and unlaced the bracer with a twist of his fingers. It clattered to the ground, and Ezio made no move to retrieve it. Smiling, Volpe began to back toward the bed, and Ezio followed him, his breath sharp and hot in his chest.

“I didn’t know your real name is Gilberto,” Ezio said, half to fill the strange silence, and half because his interest was genuinely piqued.

“Not many do.” Volpe took a seat on the bed, opening his knees. “Come here.”

Ezio hesitated, glancing at Machiavelli, who nodded. The older assassin took a cautious step forward, standing between Volpe’s legs, his breath catching when the thief began to play with the fastenings of his robes.

“Confound it, these are complicated,” Volpe said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Let me.” Machiavelli came at Ezio from the side, finding the correct laces with practiced ease and leaving Ezio’s robes open, exposing his linen tunic. He tugged at those ties as well, smirking and sliding a hand beneath Ezio’s shirt, caressing his chest. “Hairier than I am.”

“What?” Volpe reached beneath Ezio’s shirt as well, frowning and running his hand over the wide planes of the man’s chest. “Oh. Damn.” He continued tugging at Ezio’s robes, a wicked grin curving his mouth. “These need to come off at once.”

Ezio didn’t put forth an argument, content to watch the two men undress him with hungry curiosity. Volpe was almost animalistic, using his mouth to pull away the folds of the assassin’s robes and pressing his lips to the proud arch of Ezio’s collarbone, licking a hot path down his chest. Ezio sucked in a breath when his nipple was teased, closing his eyes and twisting a hand into Volpe’s hair. Shit, he hadn’t even remembered how sensitive that was.

“No wonder women make such a fuss over you.” Machiavelli was observing the older assassin from every angle, pausing to stare appreciatively at his ass, tight and sculpted from years of intense acrobatics. “Gilberto, did you have an idea about how you might like this to work?”

Volpe hummed—he’d been preoccupying himself with tonguing Ezio’s navel while running his fingers over the dark trail of hair that disappeared teasingly beneath Ezio’s trousers—and peered around the larger man’s hip to grin up at his lover. “I think you should let him take you.”

Machiavelli quirked an eyebrow and stepped closer to their new partner, placing a hand on Ezio’s ass and groping him roughly, smirking when the older man jumped and growled at him. “What, so you can fuck him yourself?”

“If you want inside his ass so badly,  _bello_ , then by all means,” Volpe drawled, getting to his feet and pressing his mouth to the underside of Ezio’s jaw, sucking until he bruised.

“Do I not have a say in this matter?” Ezio asked, one hand still lazily stroking the thief’s curls while he had his fun.

“Of course you have a say, you just seemed content to let Gilberto continue to try and eat you.” Machiavelli was still distracted by Ezio’s ass, stroking him, caressing him, and Ezio found that he was, in fact, content to let him. “Have you ever taken a man, Ezio?”

“No.” The older assassin caught the boy’s wrist when devious hands encircled his waist, turning reluctantly from Volpe’s wicked tongue to capture Machiavelli’s face in his palms. “But if you’d like to be my first, I certainly won’t object.”

“Nor would he,” Volpe purred, sliding around Ezio and all but stealing the younger assassin from his arms. “But pray watch for a moment, Ezio, and see how it’s done, hm?”

“Selfish,” Machiavelli said, his murmur turning into a moan when Volpe pulled him close and kissed him, deep and slow. Ezio watched with fascination, entranced by the brief glances of entwined tongues between their open mouths, by the way Machiavelli melted into his older lover with breathless anticipation.

“Beautiful boy,” Volpe whispered, so quietly that Ezio almost didn’t hear it, and then he pushed Machiavelli onto the bed. He dropped his mouth onto the young man’s crotch, mouthing at his clothed need and raking his nails down the slender thighs.

The sounds spilling from Machiavelli’s mouth made Ezio feel weak at the knees. He lowered himself onto the bed, shrugging his robes away before running a cautious hand beneath the boy’s tunic, felt the warm skin, the raised swelling of a new scar, the softness of the hair on his chest. Machiavelli reached for him, cupped a hand to his unshaven cheek and pulled him down to mesh their mouths, moaning against Ezio’s lips while Volpe continued to tease him. Ezio hadn’t expected the young man to be so vocal, but it was a welcome surprise; Machiavelli’s trademark stoicism in bed wouldn’t have been conducive to the need throbbing between Ezio’s thighs.

“Nice,” Niccolò almost purred, cupping the older assassin’s hardness, his teeth biting at his lower lip. Ezio had always thought it was an anxious tic; he’d never have dreamed that Machiavelli did it when he was excited. “Look, Gilberto.”

Volpe lifted his head, breathing heavily, and grinned. “He’s so quick.”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Machiavelli said, nudging a leg up against the substantial bulge in Volpe’s hose and smirking when the thief sucked in a sharp breath.

“Nor are you…” Volpe dropped his head again, trailing open-mouthed kisses up Machiavelli’s covered need, his mouth curving into a smile when the boy’s acrid retort melted into a soft moan, his hips rolling up into his lover’s touch.

“God,” Ezio said hoarsely, his hand still affixed to Niccolò’s chest through his open tunic, toying with a hard nipple. “God, you’re beautiful. Both of you.”

“Why, thank you.” Volpe sat up and licked his lips before leaning in to kiss the older assassin, hooking a hand into his shirt to drag him closer when Ezio groaned. The thief maneuvered to accommodate them both with expert ease, slipping his knee between Niccolò’s spread thighs so the boy could grind against him even while he kissed Ezio breathless.

Ezio closed his eyes, gave himself over to the assault of sensation on his body. Machiavelli’s hand on his cock was exquisite, just the right amount of pressure and teasing, and Volpe’s tongue was wet and warm, searching his mouth with curious want. The assassin almost whined when Volpe broke away, watching while the older man bent down to bestow attention upon the boy pinned beneath them. Niccolò gasped and arched up into the hand that pulled his straining cock free of his hose, biting his lip to muffle his cries  as he was pumped with slow, sure confidence.

“Volpe,” Ezio murmured, leaning close to press his mouth to the thief’s shoulder, painfully aware of the proximity of his own straining need to Niccolò’s flushed, hot form, “if I wanted him…”

“It’s up to him,” Volpe said, turning his head to catch Ezio’s mouth in a brief, fierce kiss, “but I have no objections. Not tonight, at least.”

“How— _mm!_ —ch-charitable of you,” Machiavelli gasped, struggling to contain soft, pleasured whimpers while Volpe played with his cock. “S-Stop, I’m too— _nngh_ —I’m too close—”

“Sorry.” Volpe released him, smoothing his hand up the boy’s stomach, leaning down to press gentle kisses to the exposed arches of his collarbones. “Shh,  _tesoro_ , I’ve got you…”

Niccolò wound a hand into the thief’s hair, his hips still shifting, seeking friction. He’d bit his lip so hard he’d drawn blood. “Ezio.”

“Mm?” The older assassin reached for him, ran his fingers through the soft curls of his hair. On impulse, he leaned down and licked the rapid pulse, tasted the salt of the boy’s warm skin.

“I—oh, Christ, that’s nice. Take your trousers off.”

Ezio was quick to obey, wriggling out of his pants with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, not in the least bit shy when his proud cock sprang to attention between his thighs, bared for the world to see. Machiavelli sat up, accepted a lingering kiss from Volpe before motioning for Ezio to lie on his back. The older assassin did so, watching Machiavelli with a mixture of apprehension and excitement when the boy straddled his hips, the tip of his cock poking out over his hose.

“What are you—” Ezio froze, drawing a shallow gasp when Niccolò ground against him, a slow, rolling motion of his hips that rubbed his cock against his mentor’s, leaving his hose stained with Ezio’s sweat and precum. “Oh,  _fuck_.”

“Nice, hm?” Machiavelli pressed down again, wincing when he bit down on his lip. “I’d be remiss not to credit Volpe for teaching me this. All of this, really. He’s the master.”

“Good boy,” the thief said, touching himself lazily while he watched his beloved fuck himself against their friend. He slid a hand into the back of Niccolò’s hose, grasping the pert ass and purring when he felt the muscles flex and tighten with the motion of his hips. “You want me to get you ready?”

“Please…”

“Ready?” Ezio gasped out, just barely refraining from grasping his erection and pumping himself to completion, admiring the way the ridges of Machiavelli’s abdomen coiled and rolled while they ground together. “Ready for what?”

“For you to fuck him.” Volpe fished under the bed for their bottle of oil—well loved—and coated his fingers, reaching for Niccolò’s ass and slipping two digits into his tight entrance, licking his lips when the boy gasped and arched his lower back. “Mm. Tight.”

Ezio pushed himself up on his elbows, placing a gentle hand on Niccolò’s cock to stop him—he was dangerously close to coming. “Can I…?”

Machiavelli nodded, breathless, let himself be tugged into Volpe’s chest, moaning when the fingers in his ass probed deeper. Volpe curled his fingers and pulled, stretching his boy with firm caresses while Ezio sat up, watching them, almost devouring them with eyes alone.

“Slick yourself up,” Volpe said, indicating the bottle of oil. “No—your fingers. You’ll know to be gentle if you feel him first.”

Ezio swallowed around the tightness in his throat and did as he was told, coating his hand generously before reaching for the younger man trapped between them. Volpe withdrew somewhat reluctantly, trailing kisses along Niccolò’s shoulder while Ezio rubbed his entrance.

“Christ…” Ezio leaned forward to place a soft kiss against Niccolò’s panting mouth, sucking the boy’s lower lip between his own while he stroked the puckered flesh beneath his fingertips. He’d never touched a man in this way before, had never come close, but Machiavelli was so needy and receptive that Ezio felt any last vestiges of discomfort drifting away before he could miss them.

“Ungh. Fuck.” Niccolò wrapped both arms around the older man’s neck, pulled him close so he could mesh their mouths and thrust his tongue against Ezio’s, moaning when fingers thicker and rougher than Volpe’s pressed into him, curling inward before pushing deep. “Ahh,  _fuck_!”

“Gentle,” Volpe murmured, catching Ezio’s wrist. “Not too fast.”

“He’s fine,” Machiavelli panted, hitching his hips forward and back, struggling to find friction. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.”

Ezio reached for Volpe, stroked an appreciative thumb over the weeping head of his cock before pulling the thief closer. “Help me. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“He’s well used to this. Just go slowly, you’re bigger than I am.” Volpe slid Niccolò’s hose down to his ankles, finally freeing his swollen need, and pulled the boy into his lap. He wrapped one arm around Machiavelli’s waist and hooked the other behind his knee, holding the younger man open.

Ezio continued to stretch him, watching with hungry intent while Machiavelli keened and bucked against him, struggling to relax against the intrusion in his body. The older assassin leaned forward and rested his head against Niccolò’s shoulder, peppering his warm skin with soft kisses and light, teasing caresses of his tongue.

“How long?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against the side of Niccolò’s neck while he looked up at Volpe.

“How long what?”

“Have you two been…?”

“Ah.” Volpe pursed his lips, trailing lazy caresses up and down Niccolò’s sides. “When did you meet Ezio, love?”

“Mm—eighty n-nine?”

“Six years, then.” Volpe tilted the boy’s head back at an angle so he could kiss him, and Ezio watched them enviously. His longest affair had been with Cristina when he was a boy himself, and they had only enjoyed a few months of intimacy before the murder of his family.

“Aren’t you afraid? That you’ll be found out?”

“Well, you found us out, and that worked out rather well,” Volpe said, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth.

“If someone like Savonarola found out, I mean.”

“Oh.” Volpe shrugged. “We’ll seduce him as well, I suppose.”

“I am  _not_  fucking him,” Niccolò said, his voice hitching when Ezio worked his fingers in deeper. “N-No way in  _hell_.”

“Yes, the bounds of promiscuity only extend so far,” Volpe said, heaving a dramatic sigh and lovingly nipping Niccolò’s ear when the boy smacked him. “I’m only joking,  _tesoro_.”

“You say that…” Niccolò drew in a sharp gasp and flinched, seizing Ezio’s wrist. “Ah, f-fuck—”

“Did I hurt you?” Ezio asked, concerned, beginning to remove his hand, but Machiavelli’s thunderous glare stopped him.

“No, you idiot, I almost  _came_. I thought you were experienced.”

Ezio felt his face grow hot. “Not with men, I told you that. We don’t all offer up our asses to the first people to ask, you know.”

“Is it so different for men and women? I hope to God you can tell when a woman is about to come, or do they fool you with overdramatized pleasure so you’ll be on your way?”

“And what in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t know when you’re being insulted, you’re too stupid to insult.”

Volpe rolled his eyes and landed a sharp bite against Machiavelli’s neck before their bickering could turn more heated. “Could you two  _try_  to get along, just for tonight? Please?”

Machiavelli grumbled, growing restless in Volpe’s arms. “He’s so attractive until he opens his mouth.”

“Niccolò,” Volpe chided, “be nice.”

Ezio smirked, twisting his fingers and chuckling when Machiavelli released a harsh cry, arching helplessly against the rough touches. “He’s right. Show a little more respect to your mentor.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Machiavelli snarled at him, but his eyes were overbright, cheeks flushed and lips parted in an open expression of lust. “Stop.”

“What?”

“I said  _stop_.” Niccolò arched away from him, biting his lip when Ezio’s slick fingers slid free of his body, and took a few moments to steady his breathing before pushing a foot against the older assassin’s hip. “Lie back.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking questions and just do as I say, you useless lump of muscle.”

Ezio’s eyes narrowed, but he shuffled back and reclined, propping himself up on his elbows and arching his eyebrows when Machiavelli knelt between his spread knees.

“You really respond well to negative reinforcement.”

“Oh, shut up…” Ezio sucked in a breath when the younger man trailed soft kisses down his abdomen. “What are you doing?”

“What did I just say about asking questions?” Niccolò asked darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin below Ezio’s navel to make his point before brushing his lips over the head of the proud cock standing up at an almost comical angle.

“ _Lucky_ ,” Volpe said, his sigh turning into a whine when Niccolò took the head of Ezio’s cock into his mouth. “I’ve been asking for that for  _days_.”

Ezio ignored him, watching the obscenity unfolding before him with desperate want, moaning when Niccolò swallowed his entire length and sucked hard for several seconds before coming up for air, huffing a hot groan against the older man’s swollen member.

“Christ, you’re big.” Machiavelli swallowed him again, dragged harder and longer this time, pulling back with a cough when Ezio’s hips gave an impatient jerk upwards. “God dammit, where the  _hell_  are your manners?”

“In the same dark, deserted hole as your dignity?”

Niccolò snorted, grasping Ezio’s cock in his hand and pumping him a little harder than was strictly necessary, smirking at the older man’s grunt, torn somewhere between pain and pleasure. “If you think pleasing a man with one’s mouth is undignified, then you  _clearly_  don’t know enough about the dynamics of sex and power. All men, after all, are motivated by—”

“Niccolò,” Volpe sighed, reaching around the boy’s hips to give his cock a firm squeeze, “now is really not the time.”

“He’s going to have to  _learn_  if he’s going to be mentor,” Machiavelli said, somewhat petulant, but he resumed teasing Ezio’s cock with his mouth, wrapping a hand around Volpe’s while the thief continued to touch him. “Mm. Gilberto, you can take me.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll be better prepared for Ezio if I have you first.” Machiavelli sat up and wrapped an around Volpe’s shoulders, pulling him close for a soft, lingering kiss. “Don’t neglect yourself for my sake.”

Volpe wasn’t one to argue with sound logic (that was his story, anyway, and he was sticking to it). He slicked his hardness as quickly as he could before lining up with his cock with Niccolò’s entrance, pushing into his boy with one firm thrust and grunting when the young body accepted him, pulled him in deep. Machiavelli released a startled cry, twisting a hand into the sheets, the other clenching almost painfully hard around Ezio’s knee.

Ezio sat up, shaking, and wrapped a hand around the back of Niccolò’s neck, pulled him close for a brusing kiss while Volpe began to move, fucking into the boy he loved with soft, desperate moans. Niccolò gasped against Ezio’s mouth with each thrust, eyes squeezed shut against the sudden deluge of sensation. He fumbled to touch the older assassin, pushed Ezio back against the bed and pulled the man’s cock to his mouth, sucking on the tip hard enough to make Ezio snarl before swallowing him. Ezio wound a hand into the younger man’s hair, his breath leaving him in short, stunted gasps, tight heat coiling low in his abdomen when he felt the wetness of Niccolò’s tongue against his shaft. Every snap of Volpe’s hips shunted Niccolò forward, forced Ezio’s cock a little deeper into his throat. He let himself reach the point of discomfort before drawing his mouth off, coughing and gasping against the assassin’s heated skin while Volpe bent forward over his back, the depth of the new angle making them both snarl out their pleasure.

What  a sight they’d make to Savonarola, Ezio thought—Niccolò Machiavelli, penetrated roughly from behind while he licked and sucked and bit at Ezio’s cock, Volpe fucking into a man little more than half his age while he growled words laden with filth and want against the boy’s flushed skin, and Ezio prostrate beneath them both, grinding up into Niccolò’s sinfully talented mouth, enjoying the show, enjoying their carnal display of passion. Participating. And how.

“Ah— _ah_ —s-stop, stop,” Niccolò gasped out, reaching back to plant a hand on Volpe’s hip, “I’m too close—”

“ _Nn_ —” Volpe shook his head, stutered out a moan, and came, spilling deep inside his boy’s body and moaning when Niccolò clenched down around him. “Oh,  _fuck_ — _tesoro_ —” He jerked his hips back, grasping his cock in one hand and ejaculating between his lover’s thighs, leaving his entrance and perineum filthy and debauched.

Niccolò pressed his mouth against Ezio’s skin, sucking in slow, calming breaths, teetering dangerously close to the edge and just barely reigning in his need. His cock pulsed against Ezio’s leg, trapped beneath his body, and remained unhappily unfulfilled, for the time being.

“... _Ungh_.” Volpe had recovered somewhat, rubbing an appreciative hand over Machiavelli’s ass before flopping back against the bed, folding his arms behind his head and heaving a yawn. “I’m not going four days without you ever,  _ever_  again.”

“ _Un_ believable,” Niccolò mumbled, snorting against the delicious hardness of Ezio’s abdomen. “Pass the oil.”

“Mm.” Volpe did so, his toss missing Niccolò’s hand by several inches, and rolled onto his side, grinning while his young lover slicked up Ezio’s cock with quick, impatient strokes. “Getting desperate?”

“I’ve been  _this close_  to coming for a half hour now, I’m done,” Niccolò said, and without further ado he straddled Ezio’s hips and sank down onto his cock.

Ezio sucked in a startled breath, every muscle tensing, surprised by the foreign sensation of being inside another man’s body. Niccolò struggled for a moment—even after being limbered up by Volpe, Ezio was still a lot to take in one sitting—hah—and blew out a slow, shaky breath, closing his eyes and rocking his hips, carefully seating himself on the older assassin’s hard length.

“Oh— _ungh_ —fuck,” Ezio grunted, helpless and inarticulate. “Are you—a-are you—”

“I’m fine, just give me a moment.” Niccolò inhaled sharply when Ezio’s hips jerked upward, the motion aborted just a second too late. “Lie  _still_ , damn it.”

“S-Sorry.” Ezio trailed his hands up and down the younger man’s splayed thighs, soothing the tense muscles. “You’re so tight.” Tighter than any woman he’d ever had, that was for sure—tighter even than a virgin. Women, he supposed, were built for penetration, became accustomed to it with a little practice. The same couldn’t be said for men. The thought sent a little thrill of excitement through Ezio’s veins; he felt almost as if he were subverting nature’s will. Well, fuck nature, this was  _excellent_.

“Go.”

Ezio shifted, arching his lower back when Niccolò rocked down hard against him. “W-What?”

“ _Go_ ,” Machiavelli growled, his thighs trembling beneath Ezio’s palms. “I won’t last.”

The older assassin swallowed and pushed his hips up, sinking into that tight warmth, Machiavelli’s shaky moan making his blood boil. He flipped them over with one fluid motion and hoisted the boy’s legs around his waist, pinned Niccolò’s wrists high above his head. A piece of him wanted to wait, to go slow, savor their coupling, but the rest of him—Ezio snarled and tightened his grip before setting a brutal pace, pounding into the younger man hard enough that the headboard hit the wall with a telling  _thud_.

Volpe whistled, flicking an eyebrow upward. “Damn. He’s a God-forsaken animal, isn’t he?”

“Shut up,” Niccolò gasped, tipping his head back against the pillows, focusing on the large hand trapping his wrists. But Volpe was right—Ezio was snarling, his teeth bared against Machiavelli’s throat while he fucked into him without the slightest ounce of courtesy or care. It was rough and carnal and vulgar and  _delightful_.

“Fuck,” Ezio breathed, his breath hot in Niccolò’s ear, “ _fuck_ , I’m—”

Machiavelli didn’t hear the rest. The bed hit the wall with one last loud thud, and then he was there, cresting hard and tipping over the edge. He arched up against Ezio’s firm form, shouting and swearing while his cock pulsed and spilled across his abdomen. Ezio hunched his hips, thrusting into the boy once, twice, thrice more before coming, grunting and pounding his pleasure into Niccolò’s body.

Volpe watched them with a wide grin, crawling up the bed and snuggling in beside Machiavelli while the young man came down from his high, his chest heaving and his face flushed.

“I told you it was a good idea,” the thief said smugly, trailing a few sweet kisses along Niccolò’s jaw.

“About that.” Ezio withdrew, stroking his softening length with a satisfied sigh. “You said this was Leonardo’s idea.”

“Mm, yes.” Volpe wrapped an arm around Niccolò’s waist and settled his head against his lover’s shoulder. “He said inviting a third partner into bed is a good way to liven things up, and I’m inclined to agree. Aren’t you?” he added, nudging Machiavelli, who grunted back at him, one arm slung over his eyes.

Ezio rolled his eyes, lying back horizontally across the bed. “You should probably stop taking advice from Leonardo. He’ll eventually lead you into trouble.”

“You would know,” Niccolò retorted, ignoring the half-hearted punch Ezio threw at his leg. “Gilberto, stop biting me.”

“Sorry.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence; Machiavelli’s breath became slow and heavy. Ezio let himself doze, let the frustration and tension drain from his body, let Savonarola and the Apple and the Boriga pope slip away. There was a safety here he hadn’t felt in years. Their acerbic comments and crude teasing aside, Machiavelli and la Volpe had allowed him access to the most intensely intimate part of their lives, had shared with him something precious and sacred. They had trusted him with a secret that, if revealed, could cost them their freedom, perhaps their lives, and had done so without reservation.

Ezio woke perhaps an hour later; darkness had well and truly fallen, and he could only just make out Volpe’s form. The thief was sitting up with his back against the wall, Niccolò’s head cradled in his lap. He was running his fingers through the boy’s hair, the smile on his face so quiet and so soft that it was like a knife in Ezio’s heart. How many times had he done just that—sat there in the dark, watched Cristina sleep, watched peacefulness steal over her sweet features?

“Go back to sleep,” Volpe said, his voice low, gentle. “You’ve had a long few months, Ezio. You should rest.”

“Mm.” The assassin rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm. “You love him.”

“I do,” Volpe said, unperturbed by the sudden change of subject.

“Did you always prefer men? Or…”

“No. I never cared. Fucking was just fucking. I didn’t think I was capable of anything more.” Volpe smiled, shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not the sort of man to form attachments. But this boy… well. It was just Niccolò.” His voice lowered, his hand slowing its rhythmic stroking. “It’s always been Niccolò.” The thief looked up, offering Ezio a grin. “Don’t tell Leonardo what transpired between us.”

Ezio quirked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because… er, just don’t. You’d upset him?”

“Leonardo? I don’t think anything upsets him.”

“This would,” Volpe insisted, and would say nothing more on the subject.

 

 

 


End file.
